Old Recipes
by WeirdPenguin
Summary: Tens years after moving out of Mung Daal's because of an argument, 27 year old Chowder P. Arugula is being evicted from his apartment in the shady Porkloin of Marzipan City. His only hope left is to move in with Mung Daal again and maybe meet old friends.
1. Ten years later

BEEP BEEP BEEP I threw off the ratty covers I was entangled in and flung the alarm clock across the room. It smashed into tiny pieces. Grumbling, I slipped on my worn out blue slippers and trudged into the bathroom. My weary, purple face stared back at me. I splashed cold water into my eyes, but the picture stayed the same, like always. I sighed. Great, I thought. How will I get through today? My stomach grumbled, so I headed into the kitchen. I opened the door of an old, wooden cabinet. It fell off of its hinges. I swore under my breath. The apartment manager would surely not "approve" of this, as he usually said in his annoying, snippy voice. I grabbed an old box of cereal and poured the last of its contents into my gaping mouth. The door bell rang. I groaned. It had better not been the manager. I ran to my room, slipped on my trousers and collared white tee shirt and headed for the door.

A cheery post man with an annoyingly bright blue hat greeted me on my apartment step. He smiled. "Good morning, Mr. Arugula, he said in an overly high-pitched voice. I mumbled hello, scowling at his awful way of happiness. He handed me my mail and I shut the door in his face. I imagined the expression on his face now. I looked at the letters he handed me. Bills, flyers for maid services, eviction notice, Eviction notice? I dropped the bills and ads for Fifi's Cleaning Magic into the trash can and tore open the yellow envelope. My eyes scanned the note:

_Addressed to Chowder. P. Arugula_

_You are hereby evicted by Marzipan Apartment Complex .You have not been paying your monthly room and board fee for a year now. Please pack your belongings and leave immediately. Drop off this paper with your signature at front desk. Free eviction cookie as well!_

I tore the paper into tiny bits and threw them out the window. I sat down on the couch, my head in hands. I had been working full time at Marzipan Market for how long now? It hadn't been enough, I suppose. I would be homeless now, living on the streets. Well, that was one extreme. I didn't know what to do, so I grabbed my suitcase and started shoving clothes into it. Suddenly, my hand brushed against something dusty in the back of my drawer. I pulled it out. It was a purple hat, too small for me now, covered in a thin film of dust. I sneezed. It had two points and was covered in lavender silk. Memories flooded my head, like some kind of dam had burst. It was my old hat, from when I was an apprentice to the "great" chef. Mung Daal. Ten years had passed since I had left. We had ended on a sour note. I wanted to leave when I was 17 and start my own business as a rookie chef, whereas he thought I was safer there, helping him with his small, not extremely successful catering company. He was my only hope right now. Would he be the one to shut the door in my pleading face? I packed the rest of my belongings, turned off the blaring TV, and went out the door, slamming it behind me.


	2. Coming Home

I chewed on my eviction cookie thoughtfully while I was riding the bus to the nicer side of town. A man, probably a few years older than me sat in the seat beside me. He had bright pink fur covering his body and large tusks sticking out of his mouth. He looked at me and smiled. "What?" I said scornfully. He shook his head laughing. "They always find their way home again, don't they?" he said chuckling. I turned my head to the blur of colors as we passed through the tall buildings of the city. I wonder if Mung was still angry. He would probably laugh at my irony. Nobody had seen my talent as a chef. They took one look at me and pointed to the door. I was a joke in Marzipan City. My dreams were horribly crushed and I was stuck working full time at a shady grocery store in the Porkloin of Marzipan City. The furry pink man stood up and left. It was my stop as well. The bus driver stared at me as I paid. He smiled. I thought he looked familiar, as well as the man with the pink fur. He had recognized me, of course. Expecting this to happen, I just smiled silently. I stepped out of the bus and walked until I reached the bright orange building with a sign hanging off of the side of it. Mung Daal Catering.

I opened the door slowly. A bell tinkled as I walked inside. A familiar odor hit my nose. I remembered that smell. I was sure I was the one who made it. My feet seemed as though they were glued to the Persian carpeting. I was pretty nervous. An old woman wearing a large pink mushroom on her head floated over the desk, reading_ Marzipan Weekly, _her small wings beating rapidly. She cleared her throat. "Welcome to Mung Daal Catering Services. What do you want to order," she said in a nasal voice without looking up from her magazine. I fixed my collar. "I would like to see Mung Daal, please," I said with a fake confidence. Her eyes drifted to my face. She took off her glasses, rubbed them furiously with her fingers and replaced them onto her face. She stared at me and smiled. "Chowder?" she asked skeptically. "No, no it can't be. The boy's famous now." I shook my head. "No, it's me Truffles," I said. She seemed in a dream. "Yes, well, what do you want? Mung is in the kitchen, busy," she snapped. I laughed. I embraced her in a hug and went to find him in the kitchen. I could feel her eyes staring at me. I could swear I heard her whisper under her breath. He's come home.


End file.
